


Quidditch & Firewhisky

by deirdre_aithne



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Fluff, Getting Together, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-25
Updated: 2019-02-25
Packaged: 2019-11-05 17:14:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17922989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deirdre_aithne/pseuds/deirdre_aithne
Summary: Prompt(s):ron_draco_fest prompt 12 - When Harry and Draco returned to Hogwarts after the war to finish up their schooling, it was to discover that they were now roommates. One night after a party, they end up drunkenly making out, only to realize that who they're really after is each other's best friend. They decide to conspire together to make sure they each get their wish.Summary:It all started with too much firewhisky...





	Quidditch & Firewhisky

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer:** I do not own or claim to own any characters, settings, locations, etc. from Harry Potter. All borrowed aspects of the above fandom are used purely for entertainment in a fanwork, and will be returned to their proper fandom and owners scratch, dent, and injury-free.
> 
> **Author's Notes:** Nothing says 'return to fandom' like fest participation, right? And with one of my favorite pairings, no less. – Reference for the café can be found [here](http://www.jacksclapham.co.uk). Thanks to pensnest for the very speedy beta work – it's so very appreciated! Any remaining mistakes are entirely my own.

Draco's head was splitting in half, he was certain of that. It had gone well beyond both ache and pounding, and right to breaking open, no matter what his hands cradling it said to the contrary. It had been that way all morning, despite his best efforts to subdue the hangover with a greasy breakfast and quite a lot of water. All he'd managed was giving his stomach something to purge when he finally gave in to the nausea, and a fresh burst of pain in his head from the heaving.

The loud bang of the office door brought it on anew, and he lifted his head just in time for the lights to nearly blind him as they were flicked on. With a pained cry of protest, he closed his eyes again and put his head on the desk, shielding himself with his arms from the light.

"Fucking hell, Potter, I left them off for a reason!"

"Sorry," was Potter's reply, much too loud and sounding anything but apologetic. He sounded far too clear-headed, for Draco's tastes. And wasn't that resoundingly unfair, considering Potter had been just as drunk as him, the night before. He remembered.

In spite of the pain, he could do that much, at least. He remembered the entire department heading out for drinks at the end of their shift, a handful of them settling at the bar in the Leaky Cauldron, knocking back a few pints. After some time, as their co-workers began to filter out, they'd changing over to glasses of Ogden's Old Firewhisky.

Far too many glasses.

They had moved to a corner booth, by then – the two of them and Ron Weasley - but much of that was still a blur. Weasley had left before the moment of insanity struck, though, he was certain. He could still remember the moment Potter's lips has pressed against his. Or was it the other way round? He wasn't entirely clear on that either, not that it mattered. What _had_ mattered was they were snogging like randy teenagers in a darkened corner of the Cauldron, and he'd had a very startling realisation in the process.

"Hair of the dog?" Potter asked, still too loudly for Draco's pounding head. There was a soft _thunk_ of a glass being set down, nearby, and he twitched a hand carefully to find the snifter.

Draco growled. One bought of nausea had been enough for one morning, he'd no desire to suffer a second round – something more whisky was sure to bring. But he was willing to try anything to douse the fire in his head.

"How are you so damned fine?" he groused after knocking back the drink, letting the Firewhisky burn in his throat. There was a satisfying click across the room and he dared to crack an eye open, seeing Potter standing at the switch with a smirk. Even with the lights off, the room was still too bright for his tastes, with the charmed windows sending false sunlight streaming through the slats of the blinds. Still, it was an improvement.

"I keep hangover remedies at home, just in case. I suppose that means you don't?"

Draco scowled. "I don't make a habit of getting pissed on a work night."

Potter's answering chuckle was infuriating.

"Do we have a case?" he grumbled, hoping to divert Potter's focus to something other than his miserable state.

Shaking his head, Potter crossed to his own desk across the office. "Not at the moment. Although..." There was a lengthy pause, as though he was waiting for Draco to prod him for more. When no response was forthcoming, he continued, "There is the case of 'What happened between us last night' that we should probably get sorted."

With a grimace, Draco leaned back in his chair to look at the ceiling. Potter wasn't wrong, of course. They'd need to deal with it, lest the moment of insanity turn into something... _weird_ between them. All things considered, however, it was entirely possible it would do so anyway. There was no way to broach that subject that wasn't going to be awkward, at least.

"Malfoy?"

Startled, Draco straightened in his chair, shooting Potter a fresh scowl as he stood, resolutely ignoring the pounding of his head. "If we're going to discuss _that_ , then I need to be clear-headed."

"Ah," Potter said, having the audacity to grin and stand as well. "A hangover remedy and the café on the Muggle side, then? I'll meet you there."

* * *

An hour later, Draco was feeling decidedly more human than he had all morning. A quick pop into Slug and Jiggers had taken care of the bulk of his problem before he'd even made it to Clapham Junction. Potter had beaten him there, of course, and taken it upon himself to order breakfast for him while he waited. Not that Draco entirely minded. They'd spent many a morning there, sharing breakfast while they poured over notes for whatever case they were working; they knew each other's usual as well as their own.

"Right, then," Potter said around a mouthful of eggs, already scraping up the last forkful of beans on his plate. "Last night?"

Draco hummed into his coffee. "We got drunk."

"And snogged."

" _Exceedingly_ drunk," Draco amended. Potter flashed a grin in response, before taking another bite. Nudging his cleared plate aside, Draco set his cup down and stared into his coffee as though it held all the answers.

He knew why it had happened, at least for his part. The pieces had settled firmly into place over the course of his breakfast, the remnants of his hangover giving way to clear thought to process last night's hazy memories. Weasley had been with them for a while, flushed and bright-eyed with the firewhisky, and talking animatedly about Quidditch or some other thing. Draco hadn't paid too much attention. In truth, he'd been far too fixated on the shape of the other man's mouth as he spoke, watching the way his lips shaped words and wondering more than once what he tasted like behind the whisky.

If Potter hadn't been seated between them, he might have found out.

Then Ron had left for home, much to Draco's disappointment. And Potter had still been there, with his eyes that were the wrong colour but shining just as bright as Ron's had been. He'd been going on about something Draco couldn't remember, but talking in a similarly animated fashion until something inside Draco had given way. Exactly how it had happened, he still couldn't recall clearly, but their lips had met and all he could remember thinking as they pulled at each other was whether Potter tasted anything like Ron.

"You said his name, you know."

Potter's voice startled him from his thoughts, and Draco's attention snapped to his face.

"Ron's. Wasn't sure I'd heard it right, you know? But the more I thought about it this morning, I was pretty sure that's what it was."

To his surprise, Potter didn't appear to be mocking or even accusing him. He said it the same way he talked about the facts of a case – if anything, there was a note of _understanding_ in his tone. With a sigh of relief, Draco nodded.

"You reminded me of him."

Potter flashed a grin. "Using me to get to him, are you?," he asked, though his tone didn't sound entirely teasing. After a pause, the grin faltered slightly and Potter's gaze lowered to his plate as he idly poked at his remaining hash browns. "At least that's both of us, then."

"You're interested in Weasley?" Draco's eyebrows rose, and he just managed to keep the note of jealousy from his tone. Potter's startled expression eased the worry almost immediately, however, and the other man laughed.

"Merlin, no. He's a bit of all right, yeah, but we'd be shite together. It's... Well, someone a bit closer to _you_ I'm interested in."

One eyebrow remained arched as Draco considered that for a moment. He didn't keep too many friends in the department, and chances were that Potter was closer to any of them than he was. But a few did pop around their office from time to time. A lunch here. A meetup for the pub there. Potter had even come along, for some of them. Draco had never thought much of it, before, but now it occurred to him that it was always with the same person.

" _Parkinson_? You're saying I remind you of _her_?"

Potter's insufferable smile returned, and he was wise enough to sit back on his side of the booth and put more space between them before he answered. "Had to be sure I don't just have a thing for Slytherin prats, you know?"

His laugh when Draco scowled and tossed a crumpled napkin across at him was nearly as infuriating as that damned grin. If not for the fact they were in a Muggle café, Draco might have slipped his wand out to hex the bastard beneath the table. Before he could contemplate the possibility further, Potter put his hands up in surrender as he sobered slightly.

"You're not that much like her, all right? It just sort of happened. But it's clear neither of us is interested in _this_ , right?" Potter asked with a gesture between the two of them. He waited for Draco to nod before he continued, lowering his voice as he leaned in closer across the table. "So the _real_ question then is what we're going to do now."

* * *

Pansy was the easy part of the plan. Draco had known that almost immediately, not that he'd let on as much to Potter. She'd shown some passing interest in Potter at least once, and Draco hadn't failed to notice the way she eyed his arse during her visits to their office. Whether it would last was another matter, but that wasn't his concern. No, he only had to set Potter on the right path and let them sort it out from there.

Ron, he was sure, would be the problem. They may not have been enemies, any longer, but Draco was fairly certain Ron only tolerated him, at best. If he was something bordering on _friendly_ during the occasional outing to the pub with the rest of the department, it didn't necessarily mean anything. Still, Draco was willing to put some measure of faith in Potter to help.

Until he dropped the Cannons tickets on his desk the next morning.

"What is this?" Draco asked, picking up the pair of tickets with a frown. He'd known there was a Quidditch match that weekend, but had no particular interest in watching the Chudley Cannons muck about over a pitch for several hours. Though Puddlemere United might make it a decent enough show.

"This," said Potter, flicking the tickets with a smug expression, "is your ticket to Ron. The Cannons are his favourite. Have been for ages. You take him to the match, and he'll be all yours."

Draco's frown deepened to a scowl as he considered the tickets more closely. They were good seats, at least. Not too low or too high. It would make for an excellent view of the match, even if he'd be in the heart of the Cannons' side of the stands.

"It can't be that simple," he said at last, setting the tickets down on his desk. One Quidditch match together was not going to win over Ron, he was sure of that. Though, Potter did seem especially confident in the idea.

"Well, if you don't want them..."

Potter made to reach for the tickets, but Draco stopped him by placing his own hand firmly over them. "Parkinson is partial to orchids. Vanda tricolor var suavis, if you can find them."

* * *

"Never took you for a Cannons supporter," Ron said as they leaned against the railing in front of their seats. Draco had been somewhat dumbstruck when he'd accepted the invitation, though seeing the other man now, he supposed he shouldn't have been. Favourite team, indeed. Head-to-toe, Ron was clad in the same vibrant shade of orange as nearly everyone else around them. He'd even gone as far as to paint half his face the same colour.

Not that Draco could entirely judge him on that score. He'd done as much for his beloved Falmouth Falcons on more than one occasion.

"Hardly. But tickets are tickets."

To his surprise, Ron didn't look bothered by the reply. The corner of his mouth twitched and he glanced sideways long enough to meet Draco's eye for a brief moment, though he said nothing.

Without the usual buffer of the rest of the department between them, Draco had expected it to be more awkward, being alone with Ron. Though, he supposed at a crowded Quidditch match together was still a rather large leap from _alone_.

Before he could muse overlong on the thought, the murmur of the crowded stands around them swelled, Ron's voice joining the fray beside him. He'd paid no mind to the introduction of the commentator for the match, but the entrance of the teams was impossible to miss. Across the pitch, Puddlemere's side of the stands cried their support for the navy-clad figures that began to circle overhead. And only moments later, the Cannons' side answered with a cry of their own.

Sparing him a sideways glance, Draco saw Ron grinning beside him, eyes trained on the field with an almost boyish gleam.

_Oh_ , he was in trouble...

* * *

"That was bloody brilliant!" Ron exclaimed, for what must have been the tenth time since they'd left. The match had ended at last with the Cannons' seeker wrapping his fingers around the snitch with a sixty point lead over Puddlemere. While the stands around them erupted into deafening cheers, Ron turned to him with a victory shout and clapped him on the shoulder.

_'I'll get the first round!'_

Draco hadn't expected that. Nor had he expected to find himself drinking with Ron for the second time in a week, tucked away at a tiny table in the Cauldron – though, this time, without the buffer of Potter between them.

"So you've said."

" _Oi._ " Ron shot him a glare, though the small quirk at the corner of his mouth made it quite clear it wasn't in earnest. "Don't give me that. You were yelling right along with us, before the end."

"A temporary lapse in judgement."

"You were having _fun_."

Smug looked good on Ron. Even with his face still painted that horrid shade of orange that clashed so terribly with his hair, there was no denying it. Tearing his gaze away from that cocky, crooked smile, Draco made a non-committal sound into his lager. Despite it, Ron's grin only widened.

"All right, be a prat about it. Who's your team, then?"

"Falmouth."

Ron's brow arched. "The Falcons?" At Draco's nod, he gave a thoughtful hum before picking up his empty bottle and moving to stand. "One more round?"

* * *

"Stop sulking, would you? It's grating."

Raising his gaze from the paperwork on his desk, Draco scowled at Potter for a brief moment before returning his attention to his work. "I am not sulking, Potter, I am _working_. You may want to try it sometime."

The answering snort of laughter made Draco grit his teeth. It had been just over a week since he'd invited Ron to the Quidditch match, and nothing much of note had happened since. They'd spent a pleasant bit of time in the Cauldron afterwards, chatting over drinks, but that had been all. And since, there'd been nothing. He'd tried to invite him to lunch once, but Ron had begged off due to a new case coming across his desk that morning.

Even Potter had tried, although Draco was quite certain the fact he'd mentioned it would be all three of them was _why_ Ron had declined that invitation, as well. Clearly, the other man was avoiding him.

More infuriating was the fact that Potter seemed to have had far more success in his endeavours, if the  
arrival of yet another charmed, emerald memo sweeping through the slot in their office door was anything to go by. The same had happened nearly every afternoon that week, though oddly, Potter never seemed to reply, so far as Draco had seen. He'd simply read the note before tucking it into his desk, and spend the rest of the day smiling like a bloody loon.

"For a Slytherin, you're a dreadful liar, you know that?"

Before Draco could bite out a reply, there was a loud _bang_ as their office door swung open and revealed a rather irate Pansy Parkinson standing outside. Potter fumbled at his desk to slam a drawer closed, just as she stepped inside and aimed an accusing finger at Draco.

" _You._ What are you up to?"

Draco glanced uncertainly between Potter and Pansy. "Excuse me?"

To his relief, Pansy had the forethought to shut the door behind herself as she moved further into the room. Whatever she was on about, Draco was quite sure he didn't need the entire office overhearing it.

"Don't you give me that act," she spat, slamming a crumpled memo onto his desk. "It's been a week, now. Just tell me what you think you're playing, because _it isn't funny_!"

With an arched brow, Draco shifted his gaze from Pansy to the memo as he reached for it, cautiously slipping the parchment from beneath her hand. A few neat lines of poetry had been scrawled on it, though it was far too neat to have been handwriting. A Quick Quotes, most likely. One corner was still wet and smudged with dirt, as though it had been tucked into a pot.

"Potter..." Draco sighed and turned to look at his partner as the realisation struck him. He held up the memo incredulously. "You didn't bloody sign them?"

To his credit, Potter looked embarrassed, and cast a sheepish glance in Pansy's direction as he shrugged. "I was going to. Eventually."

Shaking his head, Draco stood and handed the memo back to Pansy. Whichever turn things were about to take for the two of them, he was in no mood to sit around and watch it happen. "You two sort this out. I'm going to lunch."

Draco strode out of the office as quickly as his feet could carry him, tugging on his jacket as he went. If he was quick, he might yet beat the lunch rush at the café, though he wasn't entirely sure he wanted to bother. A lonely corner booth at the Cauldron sounded much better suited to this mood.

"Malfoy."

With a scowl, Draco continued on his way towards the lift and studiously ignored whoever it was calling for him. If he could just make the lift...

"Malfoy! Fucking hell, _Draco_!"

A hand caught his shoulder and Draco turned with a glare, only to find Ron behind him, grin shining from his flushed face. He seemed to be slightly out of breath, as though he'd actually been rushing to catch up to him. The thought was enough to soothe Draco's ire.

"Heading to lunch?" Ron asked, and he nodded. "Brilliant. Mind a bit of company, then?"

* * *

"Why would she think it was _you_?" Ron asked around a mouthful of chips.

Somehow, 'a lonely corner booth' had turned out not so lonely as Ron had joined him for lunch. They had still found themselves at the Cauldron, tucked in a booth in the back corner, but Draco's mood had lightened considerably with the company. Even if Ron had wanted to hear the story of the mess Potter had landed himself in, while they ate.

"He'd been using memos for his notes, she knew it was _someone_ in the Ministry." Draco shrugged. "I assume she decided to follow her reply to end the mystery, and when she saw it was our office, I seemed the more likely culprit."

Ron let out a quiet snort of laughter. "Doubtful."

Despite himself, Draco arched a brow, uncertain whether he ought to be offended by the reaction or not. "Why is that?"

"Because you're more subtle," Ron answered, before glancing at him with a quirk of his lips. "Or less, I suppose. Depends on how obvious you consider inviting someone to a Quidditch game to be."

Draco very nearly lost his grip on his drink. Swallowing the lump that threatened to rise in his throat, he set his glass down without taking his gaze off Ron's face. "Excuse me?"

Smug really did look far too good on Ron.

"Potter?"

Ron nodded. "He's terrible at keeping secrets."

"I'll kill him," Draco muttered as he picked up his drink with a scowl.

"Well, if you feel you have to," Ron said, shifting to reach into one of his pockets. "But if you could, maybe wait until after Friday night."

Eyeing him warily, Draco asked, "Why?"

After another moment, Ron produced two tickets from his pocket and held them up, flashing a grin at Draco across the booth. "Cannons versus Falcons. I thought you might appreciate being on _your_ side of the pitch, this time."


End file.
